


Baak-Ku

by stefrobrts



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefrobrts/pseuds/stefrobrts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short case file. Scully has trouble sleeping after Mulder shoots a serial killer. She soon realizes what she thought was the conclusion of the manhunt may not be the end at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baak-Ku

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: This has no specific place in the timeline, but I feel like something around Season 3 would be appropriate.
> 
> Author Notes: I have not written a fan-fic since the good old days, and this is one that was left on the cutting room floor from back then. I have poked and prodded it over the years until it turned into something I thought I would like to share. Feedback is very much appreciated and there will be more to come!

Prologue  
\---------  
Thursday, September 12  
Virginia Tech Campus  
11:35 PM  
  
Where is he? Where is he? I saw him go around the corner of the building not thirty seconds ago, how could I have lost him so quickly? I can see the parking lot and nothing's moving there, so he couldn't have taken a car. He must still be here. Anthony Ziebel, our prime suspect, has come to pick his next victim, to abduct another woman on her way out of the library after a late night of study. Maybe he's moved to another building? Just about anywhere on campus would be good hunting for this pervert. It's so dark with the wet pavement soaking up all the light. Where is he?  
  
And where's Mulder? I thought he was right behind me. He must have ducked off in a different direction when the suspect ran. We jumped out of the stakeout car and chased him through the rain when we spotted him and realized he had slipped past the other stakeout team and was getting away from us. Now I'm cold and my clothes are heavy and wet. My hair is soaked and the water is running freely onto my face. It's distracting.  
  
Where's Mulder? I have to be careful, now there are three people with guns running around in the dark looking for each other. Look, listen, wait. The wet pavement causes reflections and shadows that make it harder to pick out what's real and what's not. Where is he?  
  
A scream, I heard that! I run, my arms pumping, legs straining, lungs burning. Try not to trip, have to get there. There, there, there. Oh God, I see him, he's got a young woman at gunpoint. How did he get her? Jesus, Mulder, where are you?  
  
FREEZE, FBI! Thank God, I can see Mulder, about a half block away, coming into the quad. We've got this guy cornered. There's nowhere for him to go, but now he's got a hostage. Mulder predicted he wouldn't hesitate to kill again, but then he won't have a bargaining chip either. It's worth it to see if he'll give up easy. Mulder didn't think he would, we discussed this very scenario two nights ago, passing the time on stakeout. DROP YOUR WEAPON, AND LET HER GO!  
  
Ah, he's moved the gun to her head, I can see him grinding the tip of it against her temple! I can see the fear in her eyes. No one should ever feel like that. The water running down her face hides any tears she might be shedding. I train my gun on him. Mulder is closer, though not by much. His gun is on him too. Mulder repeats my warnings, and adds that he should give up now, there's no way out.  
  
He's shouting something back at us. It's incoherent, doesn't matter. He lifts the gun and points it at me. He moves so fast. He can't think he's going to get away with this? It's two to one. My gun is already leveled at him, and I hold it steady. I'm waiting to get a clear shot but the hostage is still in the way. Instinct tells me to get out of the line of fire, but I don't want to give up too soon. I hate to give up. I stand like a statue, focused only on him. He stares back at me, his eyes frighteningly cold and determined. I can see the rain dripping off my gun, feel it running down my face. I do not flinch.  
  
The hostage faints. Her sudden dead weight on his arm is too much to hold and he looks down at her for an instant as she slips to the ground. He turns to face me again, but now we both have a clear shot. Mulder shouts something at him. I can't even hear him through the blood drumming against my ears, the adrenaline pounding through my veins. I begin to pull back the trigger on my weapon and I hear a gun fire..  
  
..and I see the top of his head disappear, his body drops like a rag doll. It lands on the cool wet grass of the courtyard, in a pile with the girl he had taken hostage, who, shocked into action by the gunshot, rolls away from him and begins crawling frantically on her hands and knees, a guttural wail escaping from her lips.  
  
There are lights and sirens and our backup is finally arriving. Too late, guys. Mulder and I arrive at the hostage at the same time, finding her unharmed, but in shock. Mulder kneels on the ground and lifts her up, wraps her in his coat, using her as an excuse not to approach the body of the man he shot. His eyes are wide and the whites stand out in the dark against his wet skin. I return my gun to my back holster and see there is nothing else for me to do here.  
  
I can't help but look.  
  
The body is stomach up, the top of his skull is gone, leaving a mass of brain exposed. Rain is washing the blood into the ground, and I can see the stark white bone of his skull. It's an obscene sight. His eyes are wide open and one arm is raised up, hand still clenching a phantom gun. The real gun was knocked away with the impact of the shot, though the message never got from the brain to the hand that that had happened.    
  
I look back at Mulder. He is still kneeling in the wet grass, comforting the hostage, holding her against his chest, quietly muttering gentle words that she is probably too frightened to hear. His shirt is soaked through and clinging to him, his hair is pasted flat against his head. Lit by the approaching red and blue flashing lights, he doesn't even look like my partner. But I know who he is, I probably know him better than anyone, and I know tonight either of us could have been the one left laying in the grass at the end of the showdown, blood seeping into the soft dirt. I feel a shiver course down my back that has nothing to do with the rain or the cold, but has everything to do with the closeness of our own mortality.  
  
  
Chapter 1  
\---------  
Friday, September 13  
2:50 AM  
  
Scully hung her long coat, soaked and heavy with rainwater, over the tub on a strong hanger to drip dry, adjusting it carefully so the shoulders wouldn't be too out of shape by morning. The rest of her wet clothes she unceremoniously tossed into a pile in the tub, to be dealt with later. She pulled her favorite fluffy white robe off a hook on the back of the door where it had been hanging over the bathroom heater vent. The soft warmth against her cold, damp skin was just what she needed. She rubbed a towel over her hair to dry it off a bit and was feeling relatively refreshed by the time she headed to the kitchen for a drink.  
  
Three nights on stakeout, divided only by two days of investigation and not nearly enough time for sleep, had taken their toll. She stared blankly into the refrigerator for a few moments before settling for a glass of cold water. As she walked back towards the bedroom the phone rang, and she grabbed the portable handset as she passed and took it with her. There was only one person who would be calling so late, and she had just dropped him off at his apartment less than an hour before.  
  
"Go to bed, Mulder," she said, by way of greeting.  
  
"What'ch wearing, Scully?" The question brought a slight smile to her face. It was a big improvement over the morose mood he had been in when she had left him. Watching him slip out of the car and slowly walk through the rain to his dark apartment building, drenched and mentally beaten, had not been easy. The doctor in her, or maybe the mother in her, had wanted to scoop him up and do whatever needed to be done to bring him back to his normal self, but she knew only time would do it. He may not have been fully recovered from the traumatic evening, but at least he was joking again.  
  
"Something slinky. And black, definitely black." She sat down on the bed and curled her legs under her. Her feet were still cold, her toes wrinkled and pale from soaking in her wet shoes. She waited as there was a long pause on the phone, curling her robe belt around her fingers as she listened to him breathing.  
  
"Tease. I'll bet you're wearing your fuzzy robe and that stuff on your face."  
  
"Mulder," she tried in her huskiest voice, "I only wear that for you." There was a chuckle on the other end of the line.  
  
"Are you going to sleep alright tonight?" He suddenly switched over to a more serious tone, his voice quiet and concerned. She knew immediately this was leading to why he had called, the real reason he had been hiding behind the playful banter.  
  
"Mulder, I think I'm so tired, I might fall asleep before you hang up. How about you?"  
  
"I don't know," he shuffled around, making noises against the receiver. After a second she realized it was his couch creaking as he stretched out. It made her drowsy just thinking about it, so she pulled down the covers and crawled into her bed, not even bothering to take her robe off. The phone fit almost comfortably between her pillow and her head, leaving her hands free to pull the heavy covers up to her neck.  
  
"You're upset," she offered, when there was no response from him.  
  
"I just don't get it. I knew Ziebel was dangerous, but when we cornered him he didn't even think about giving up. I could see it in his eyes. It's like he wasn't afraid to die. I really thought he was going to fire on you." She felt strangely disconnected, laying there in the dark while his voice wafted over the line. It seemed so intimate, almost like he was there in the room with her.  
  
"I think he was suffering from some kind of schizophrenic dementia. Unlike serial killers who have a normal life to cover their activities, his whole life was wrapped around torturing and killing women. When we threatened to take that away, he held his ground."  
  
"I just felt like," he struggled for the word, "there was more to it. I think I want to go down in the morning and see what the detectives find in his apartment. The words he was screaming sounded like a language. I want to find out what that was about." She listened to him rattling on and although he was sounding more awake and excited with every word, she felt her eyes slipping shut.  
  
"Scully?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm here." She rolled over and held the phone over her ear. "I think I need to get some sleep, Mulder. We can talk about it in the morning."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm going to see if I can find anything out tonight. See you in the office?"  
  
"Yes. 'night," she clicked off the phone and set it on the nightstand without opening her eyes. Behind her eyelids swirls of light and dark moved around, appearing and disappearing. While she knew that they were just the result of blood flow around the optic nerve causing erratic visual signals to be sent to her brain, the science behind it didn't keep the irregular patterns from lulling her to sleep.  
  
A short time later she awoke, disturbed by something that had only half registered in her sleep. As she groggily opened her eyes and scanned the room, she looked at the dark shadows in the corners of the room where the light from the streetlight outside the window didn't reach.  
  
She thought she saw a movement deep in the blackest shadow in the far corner of the room. She looked in its direction, and although it was too dark to see details, she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach that there was indeed something there. She froze, remembering how she had left her gun on the bathroom counter after undressing. The shadow was closer to the bathroom than she was.  
  
In one swift move she jumped out of bed and raced towards the living room. As soon as she began moving she saw the form shift and the shape collapsed into something more compact and low to the ground. It lunged out towards her as she ran past but she made it through the doorway. She ran through the living room to the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the counter, and turned, ready to defend herself.  
  
All was silent in the little apartment.  
  
She flipped on the kitchen light and peered into the living room. Nothing moved there, so she tentatively walked back through it, cautiously checking anyplace large enough for a person to hide. She checked the door and found it locked, and proceeded to the bedroom, turning lights on as she went.  
  
At the bedroom she flipped the light on and carefully searched for any sign of an intruder, but found nothing. Every window was locked, every corner was clear in the yellow light from the bedside lamp. She sat on the edge of the bed, still clutching the knife, chiding herself for jumping at shadows. She finally laid the knife on the bedside table, leaving the lights on and climbing back under the covers, trying to shake off her feeling of unease by returning to normalcy.  
  
She laid there with her eyes open, listening to the silence all around her. After many minutes had passed uneventfully she convinced herself to close her eyes and try to sleep. There was only another hour or so before she would have to get ready for work.  
  
She heard a deep, crackling growl.  
  
Her eyes popped open and she reached for the knife on the bedside table, but her fingers grabbed only air. A dark shape stood next to her bed, and faster than she could follow it with her eyes, it jumped onto her, pinning her to the bed. She struggled against the weight of it, but the beast was impossibly heavy, its movements impossibly fast. With a huge paw, bristling with razor sharp claws, it pinned her wrists, holding them down above her head and forcing the side of her face into her pillow, crushed under her arms. She heard a deep growl and felt it's hot, moist breath blowing against her face, smelling of raw meat and decay.  
  
It's other paw roughly dig at her chest, tearing her robe away, the sharp claws digging into her skin and burning like hot irons. Even as she winced at the pain, she was aware of the cool air against her chest, the weight on her legs as the creature laid on her. The beast's huge rubbery nose sniffed over her bare chest, dragging prickly whiskers over her skin before pushing against her breasts with it's dripping, wet snout. She felt an overwhelming panic take over, and she forced herself to sit up, arms flailing, frantic half-screams coming from her own throat helping to scare her awake.  
  
Light streamed in through the blinds on the bedroom window. She stared at it for a moment, regaining her focus, breathing hard through her mouth while her heart pounded in her chest like a bass drum, making her ears ring. As her heart slowed again, she looked around the room. Her bed covers were thrown back and the phone and her water glass were knocked to the floor. She wiped her hands over her face, pushing away errant strands of hair that hung down over her eyes, and as she looked down at herself she realized her robe was pulled open, exposing long, fresh scratches on her chest.  
  
  
Chapter 2  
\---------  
Friday, September 13  
6:50AM  
  
  
"Sleep well?" Mulder was standing next to his desk, carefully arranging   pictures on it into some sort of logical order. Scully had barely mumbled a response before he grabbed her arm and dragged her close to the desk.  
  
"What time did you get in, Mulder?" It was hard to keep the annoyance out of her voice, when he was inadvertently pushing the limits of her patience. She didn't want him squeezing her arm, nearly knocking her feet out from under her by dragging her across the slick floor, and she particularly wasn't in the mood for the way he was now hanging entirely too close over her shoulder, eagerly waiting to see if she would be as excited about his latest find as he was.  
  
"I didn't go to bed last night. Instead I went to Ziebel's apartment and watched the evidence team going over it. I was able to get these pictures of some of the more interesting things they found in his room." He gestured to the Polaroids spread out on his desk. Scully leaned over to look at them. A variety of carved wooden figures, ceremonial bowls, ornamental knives, African looking rugs and wall hangings of lions prowling a dry, scrubby savanna seemed to have caught Mulder's attention.  
  
"So he wasn't Martha Stewart? I don't think that's a punishable offense." She lifted one of the pictures to look at it more closely. It was a carved wood figure of a woman, cut out of a dark brown wood. The figure was stretched into an unrealistically tall, skinny shape, and the breasts had apparently been carved off, leaving round, flat circles in a lighter color of wood. She tossed it down onto the desk, disdainfully.  
  
"Well, it's not so much his odd taste in decor that caught my attention as the fact that these items all seem to have a link to Ethiopia." Mulder swung around her and sat on the corner of the desk, giving her a look she recognized all too well from years of slideshow presentations where he would painstakingly reveal the clues he had gathered one at a time, instead of just giving her all the facts up front. She was certain the look she was giving him in return couldn't be encouraging him.  
  
"Why Ethiopia?" She sighed, resigned.  
  
"Because Ziebel was stationed there when he was with the Marines back in '88."  
  
"So he brought back souvenirs?" Come on, Mulder, she thought, just spill it already.  
  
"Maybe more than he bargained for. There's no evidence of Ziebel showing any mental illness before or during his being stationed in Ethiopia. It all began after he came back." Mulder dragged a hand over the picture Scully had tossed back onto the desk. He picked it up and looked at it for a moment before gathering all the pictures back into a pile. "I made an appointment with a professor of anthropology at George Washington University. She's an expert on African cultures. We'd better leave now if we don't want to be late."  
  
"Why don't you go on your own? I'll stay here and get started on my report for the shooting." She set her laptop down on the other desk and began taking off her coat, trying to shake off the slight annoyance at Mulder's assumption that she would be interested in running off first thing in the morning to investigate something that wasn't even part of their assignment. Someday he really needed to learn to let things go.  
  
"Didn't sleep well, huh?" He asked, still grabbing his coat and preparing to leave.  
  
"No, I'm fine, Mulder. You didn't sleep at all, and you're off chasing after clues that aren't really relevant to the termination of this case."  
  
"Your point?" He finished shrugging his coat on, and stared back at her, half annoyed, half curious.  
  
"I think you need to re-examine your priorities. There are reports that need to be written. We will probably be called into Skinner's office for a review of the shooting this afternoon. We should be concentrating on that." She found she had raised her voice a little more than she wanted to, but now that the words were spilling out she didn't want to break her momentum. "Trying to blame his mental illness on military service, a disease he picked up overseas, or even some Ethiopian Voodoo isn't going to make any difference now. He's dead. Let's get the paperwork finished, prepare our statements for the inquiry board, close the case and get on with our lives."  
  
Mulder stood in the doorway, photos dangling from one hand, staring at her as he absorbed the brunt of her wrath. He blinked and looked at her as if she were a strange animal he'd never encountered before.   
  
"I'll be back in an hour or two." He was down the hallway before she could pull a response out of her sleep-deprived mind.  
  
She walked to the door and swung it shut behind him harder than necessary, hoping he heard the slamming clearly at the elevator, before returning to the desk and sitting down in front of her laptop. If only she had gotten a good night's sleep she knew she would have felt much better, much more prepared to write her report on the shooting. She stared at the tiny laptop screen, trying to focus on the tiny black letters. Just a couple minutes rest, she thought, crossing her arms on the table in front of her and putting her head down. Just a few minutes will make all the difference.  
  
The office door slammed shut. Scully sat up, groggy and a little embarrassed to be caught napping on the job. "Mulder?"  
  
The shadows seemed impossibly long for the artificially lit office. For the first time she noticed how dark the corners of the office could be, even with the fluorescent lights on overhead. She looked around the room nervously, but saw no sign of her partner.  
  
"Hello, who's here?" She said, slowly getting up from her desk. She reached for her gun and carefully withdrew it from her holster, swinging it around in front of her and holding it firmly with both hands pointed at the floor.  
  
The office was small, and there wasn't much to inspect before she realized that she was alone in it. If the door had shut and there was no one inside, then they must be out in the hall. She opened the door and carefully looked up and down the hallway.  
  
Empty. The lighting was equally dim in the hall, and the shadows seemed to stretch around the corners and along the floor, aided by the dark grey walls that soaked up what little light came from the fixtures set into the ceiling panels. A metallic click echoed through the empty hall. Scully immediately placed it as the sound of the maintenance room door closing at the far end of the hallway. She slowly walked towards it, gun ready.  
  
"Hello?" She pushed the maintenance door open slowly, cautiously watching and listening for any sign of an intruder. The room was filled with huge, boxy machines; air conditioning units, heater units, electrical boxes and telephone boxes. Cables and air conduits covered the ceiling, occasionally disappearing into large, roughly cut out holes in the ceiling. The room was filled with a low mechanical hum that pulsed with the red and green lights that flashed on the machines' front panels.  
  
"Hello? Maintenance? Is anyone down here?" She took a few steps past the doorway and the door swung shut behind her with a loud click that echoed through the basement, reverberating among the metal machines. A light against the distant back wall seemed to indicate where the Maintenance Office was located, and as she walked back she thought she could just make out the sounds of a radio quietly playing.  
  
Ten yards from the door, twenty yards from the office, she stopped when she heard a scuffling noise to her right, off in the darkness between two machines. She froze, staring into the shadows. Then she heard another sound, a low, clicking, growl.  
  
As she stared, bewildered, into the darkness, the shadows seemed to change texture. They began to blend together into a form, huge and low to the ground. The growl continued, louder. Scully turned and ran for the door.  
  
She almost made it.  
  
As she ran she heard the sounds of claws clattering on the concrete floor behind her, slipping and sliding but still gaining on her. A huge animal, it's breath coming in great, wet snorts trailed just behind her. Just short of the door a massive weight hit her back and knocked her to the floor, where her gun slipped from her hand, skittering across the concrete and disappearing into the shadows. The creature on her back crushed the breath from her lungs and dug heavy claws into her back, forcing a low cry from her lips. She arched her back in pain and tried to turn around enough to get a look at it, to look into the eyes of the beast.  
  
As she stretched she felt something grab her shoulder and shake it. Like a ray of pure light, the interruption distracted the shadowy beast, and she felt it dissolve into nothingness along with the dark basement around her. With no reality to hang onto, she slid, dropping into a bottomless pit, falling into darkness.  
  
  
Chapter 3  
\---------  
Friday, September 13  
10:25 AM  
  
  
"Scully?"  
  
Scully jumped and clutched the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip, frantically looking around the room in confusion before spotting Mulder sitting on the corner of her desk, one hand tentatively close to her shoulder but not quite touching as he watched her with concern. She relaxed a little at the sight of a familiar face, but her heart was still pounding with fright, and her breaths were coming a little faster than she would like.  
  
"Are you OK? You looked like you were having a bad dream." He moved back a little as she sat back in her chair and rubbed at her eyes. The laptop had gone into screen saver mode and she reflexively reached up and hit a button to wake it up. The screen was nearly blank. Mulder smiled.  
  
"So you got quite a bit done while I was gone?"  
  
"I guess I dozed off," she answered, her voice hitting a nervous high note that she hoped he wouldn't notice or would attribute to something else. She regained her composure and swung the chair around to face him, catching a glance at the clock on the wall as she did so. She had napped for over three hours. "So what did you find out?"  
  
"I spoke to a Dr. Kotubetay, professor of African Studies at the University. She was very excited to see these pictures," Mulder pulled the Polaroids out of his coat pocket and scattered them on the desk next to her laptop, simultaneously pulling a spare chair over and sitting down next to her. "These artifacts are from a very elusive tribe that roams through the lower Ethiopian region of Africa, the Baak-ku. They are purported to be a tribe of wizards or sorcerers. Very little is known about them because they are so feared by the neighboring tribes that if the Baak-ku move into a tribe's territory, the other tribe will pack up and move on without a fight."  
  
He arranged the pictures on the desk in front of them, and pointed to a photo of a colorful wall-hanging. "This is a distinctly Baak-ku style, and it tells the story of a man who gained immortality by eating the flesh of seven others. It's called 'The Feast of Seven'."  
  
Scully picked up the picture and looked closer at the woven piece. She hadn't really noticed before, but now she could see the story art woven into the geometric patterns. "So how do you think this relates to the case? Whatever the meaning of these pieces, Ziebel is dead."  
  
He stared at the pictures, nodding in agreement, though the look on his face indicated he had a problem still. He pointed to the photos of the ceremonial bowl and knife.  
  
"These pieces are also involved in the 'Feast' ritual, and this," he picked up the photo of the mutilated figurine, "this is the su-kuura. It's a figure representing which part of the flesh he has chosen to partake of to bring him his power. It's like a contract between him and the gods. That explains why the trophies he always took from his victims were the breasts. Well, aside from him just being a breast man." Mulder glanced at her to see if she would take the bait, but she ignored his little joke, crossing her arms uncomfortably over her chest as she listened.  
  
"But the part that disturbed me most was the phrase he shouted at us before I shot him. I repeated it as best I could for Dr. Kotubetay, and she recognized it immediately, even with my mangling it."  
  
"And?"  
  
"It's called 'The Curse of Dreams'. It's used by a warrior who is one step shy of completing the Feast, and the Baak-ku believe it gives the warrior the power to infiltrate his victim's mind long enough to allow them to make the seventh sacrifice." Mulder looked at the photo of the figurine and twirled it around his fingers, absently. "It's one of the reasons other tribes just get out of their way when the Baak-ku move in. There's no defense against someone who attacks you in your own head."  
  
Scully suddenly had a sinking feeling in her stomach, and she moved her hands to grip the arms of her chair, her head spinning lightly.  
  
"You're right, though," he said finally as he wrapped a rubber band around the photos and tossed them onto a pile behind his desk, defeated. "I guess I should have just spent my morning working on my report. These stories aren't going to help us much at the review board."  
  
  
Chapter 4  
\---------  
Friday, September 13  
9:45 PM  
  
Scully stood in the dingy hallway, staring at the brown door before her as she had a hundred times in the last few years. She had found herself here looking for answers, clues, solace or forgiveness. This was the first time she thought she had honestly needed his help. She rapped on the door with the back of her hand.  
  
"Who is it?" Mulder's voice called from inside.  
  
"Mulder, it's me." She stood for a moment, listening to shuffling noises inside, wondering if she had interrupted anything.  
  
Finally the door swung open. Mulder stood before her wearing nothing but sweatpants, a t-shirt dangling from one hand.  
  
"I'm not..uh?" she began, looking with apprehension at his state of undress.  
  
"I was just catching up on my sleep. Come on in, Scully." He stepped back from the door and pulled the shirt on, giving his hair a quick run-through with his hand in an attempt to get it back under control.  
  
Scully hung her coat on the rack by the door and loitered in the living room for a minute, uncomfortable enough with her problem that she didn't want to sit down just yet. Instead she walked around, nervously watching the muted TV which was showing an old black and white movie, glancing at the papers spread out on Mulder's desk, probably hinting at his latest government cover-up theory. She stopped in the corner and stared at the fish. Mulder watched her with interest as he sat on the couch and pulled on some socks.  
  
"So, what's up," he finally asked, sitting back against the couch and stretching his arms out across the back.  
  
"I just wanted to talk something over with you." She finally sat on the couch next to him, fidgeting.  
  
"I'm all ears," he offered, watching her with interest. Anything that had Scully this upset had to be interesting.  
  
"You were pretty upset last night about the shooting," she began.  
  
"Yeah, I just had a bad feeling about it. I felt like something really strange had happened. I think I was just angry about having to kill someone. I guess I was just looking for some more logical explanation other than that the guy was a psycho."  
  
"What if I told you I thought something strange was going on too?" Scully spoke hesitantly, verbally treading lightly.  
  
"Like what?" Mulder leaned forward, his interest peaked.  
  
"Like I can't get any rest since the shooting," she said hesitantly.  
  
"You're having trouble sleeping?"  
  
"No, I'm having trouble while I'm asleep. I'm having terrible nightmares." She looked around the room, at the TV, the stacks of videotapes on the floor, the computer desk, anywhere but into her partner's eyes.  
  
"So you were having a bad dream when I woke you up in the office this morning," Mulder nodded at his own observation. "I thought as much. And last night?" She nodded.  
  
"And this evening after we left the office. I tried to take a nap at home and," she thought about it but decided any further revelations should be carefully worded. It seemed too personal.  
  
"Well, what are they like? Are they all the same?"  
  
"They're vivid, and completely believable. They happen in the place I'm at, like in my room or in the office, and I go about as if I've woke up, but there's always a shadowy creature hiding in the area, and it attacks me, viciously. Then I really wake up."  
  
Mulder sat back again, looking at her with a mix of curiosity and concern. He swallowed hard and considered his response carefully. Since she was proposing something fantastical, he was required to think of a logical response. It was the least he could do for her.  
  
"Have you considered it could be an episode of lucid dreaming? Where your brain wakes up but your body remains in a sleep-state paralysis. They say that can lead to incredibly realistic dreams that have been described as out-of-body experiences."  
  
"Of course, it's a popular sleep disorder used to explain several sleep-related phenomena, including alien abductions. You know that if that was it I'd be at my doctor's office right now, and not on your couch. There's something else."  
  
She turned away from him on the couch and lifted her blouse from the bottom, revealing most of her bare back to him. She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her and felt his fingers trailing carefully over her back, barely touching the bright red welts that crisscrossed the soft skin there.  
  
"Jesus, Scully," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "How did this happen?"  
  
"That's what I'd like to know," she said, dropping her shirt back down and turning to face him. "That's what we have to find out."  
  
  
Chapter 5  
\---------  
Friday, September 13  
11:00 PM  
  
"Mr Mulder," the large African woman stood in the doorway, wearing colorful traditional African robes, and smiled with recognition at the two FBI Agents on her porch. "I don't believe I've met your partner." She reached a pudgy hand towards Scully in greeting, and Scully shook it gratefully.  
  
"Agent Dana Scully. I'm pleased to meet you, Dr. Kotubetay. I'm so glad you could make time for us on such short notice." She noticed the woman was considerably older than her, but her face showed such joy that her eyes sparkled with life.  
  
"Well, come in, come in. It won't do to leave visitors standing on the porch." She turned and led them back into the house. "Welcome to my home."  
  
As they followed her, Scully noted the incredible array of African art the woman had collected. The entry hall was lined in carved wooden masks, two beautifully carved spears hung crossed above the masks, and beautiful rugs were hung above that, all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. The floor was covered in a thick, woven mat that ran the length of the hallway. When they reached the sitting area, Scully wasn't surprised to find the walls covered in even more woven art, and statues and figures covered every flat spot in the house. She stopped to examine a life size statue wearing what looked like a warrior outfit, complete with shield and spear, posing next to the doorway of the living room.  
  
"Do you like my art? I've collected it over many years and many many trips to the continent to learn about and to teach the people there. This one is my favorite. A Zulu friend gave this to me after I spent six months living with his tribe. I was honored." She straightened the spear in the statue's hand slightly. He seemed to stare past her with a stern look on his determined face, his features outlined with war paint.  
  
"It's fantastic, Dr. Kotubetay," Mulder complemented her and she beamed in response. "I'd hate to get up for a drink of water at night and see him standing there, though."  
  
"Oh, no! He's not threatening, is he? He's a guardian. He's supposed to protect me and my home." She smiled a wide, honest, contagious smile. "Please, sit, sit." Dr. Kotubetay waved them to the couch.  
  
"So, does he?" Mulder asked as he sat.  
  
"Does what?"  
  
"Does he protect you?" Mulder pointed at the Zulu.  
  
"So far so good, don't you think?" Dr. Kotubetay laughed at her own joke, her whole body shaking with the thunder of it. "My goodness, what can I get you two? Something to drink? Then we can sit and talk."  
  
"Oh, no, really. Thank you, but I'd really like to get right to it." Scully interrupted, the seriousness plain in her voice. Dr. Kotubetay nodded and sat on in the overstuffed chair across from the Agents on the couch.  
  
"Please, then, tell me why you had to speak to me tonight."  
  
Scully looked at Mulder and thought about where to start. Before she could decide he jumped in.  
  
"Those Baak-ku artifacts I showed you photos of this morning?" Mulder began. "I told you they belonged to a man we shot and killed last night. He had murdered six women, and he had taken a woman for his seventh hostage when we intercepted him. He refused to put his gun down, in fact he had it aimed at my partner," Mulder looked over at Scully, and saw she was nodding along with him, but not adding anything of her own, so he continued. "I was left with no option but to shoot him, in our own defense."  
  
"It's terrible. I assume from the fact that this would have been his seventh victim, you think he was acting out the Feast of Seven ritual?" Dr. Kotubetey asked. Mulder nodded seriously.  
  
"But before I shot him he was staring at my partner, he was fixated on her. Then he shouted something, which you identified as the 'Curse of Dreams'." He reached a hand behind Scully and barely touched her back, encouraging her to continue.  
  
"Well, since last night," Scully reluctantly added, "every time I try to sleep I have terrible, violent nightmares. They're not like anything I've ever experienced before.."  
  
"Oh, but Mr. Mulder, Ms. Scully, that is just a story. The tribes tell it and believe it, but it has very little relevance in our Western world." She smiled and shook her head. "The Baak-ku may believe it, and the neighboring tribes have good reason to avoid the cannibalistic Baak-ku because of it, but I don't think.."  
  
"Dr. Kotubetey, look at this," Mulder waved her over to the couch and encouraged Scully to turn enough to show her back. He carefully lifted her shirt to reveal the angry welts and the old woman stared in amazement. "These appeared after a dream. She couldn't have done these herself. There's something else going on here." Mulder spoke quietly but firmly. He pulled Scully's shirt back down and rubbed a reassuring hand over her back as she turned back around. Dr. Kotubetey looked at them both, shaking her head.  
  
"I don't know. These stories have to do with the power of the old gods, things that have nearly disappeared from most tribal cultures as Christianity was introduced. That's why I was excited to see those Baak-ku artifacts. No one believes these things anymore."  
  
"Doctor, I know you don't know me, but I'm a scientist. I'm the last person in this room to believe in curses. I wish I could say this is some sleep disorder with symptoms of self-mutilation, or some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion, but..", Scully heard her own voice rising, becoming more flustered. She wished she could stop right there, let it be a simple sleep disorder, and that would be it. Instead she continued. "I just don't think it is. I don't know how these wounds happened. All I know for certain is that they just appeared after some of the most frightening nightmares I've ever had in my life. I was hoping you could help me." Scully suddenly realized she was shaking as she spoke, which probably wasn't giving much credence to her claim of being a reasonable scientifically minded person, but was very convincing of the fact that she had reached the end of her rope.  
  
"Stay here," Dr. Kotubetey stood up, wringing her hands together. "I have some books that might speak of these things. I'll see what I can find." She reached over and patted Scully's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this. Just remember, for every evil god, there are good ones to fight them. We just have to find out which ones."  
  
Chapter 6  
\---------  
Saturday, September 14  
1:15 AM  
  
  
"How are you doing?" Mulder asked, towering above her like a specter in the dimly lit room.  
  
Scully looked up from the corner of the couch where she had curled up with a Bible after becoming frustrated watching Mulder and Dr. Kotubetey digging through hundreds of accounts of tribal curses and possessions and other things she had a very hard time believing. She had retreated to the front room and found the Bible on the bookshelf, and occupied herself by reading the Psalms. She was so tired and sleep deprived that she was finding it difficult to focus on the small print, and she set the book on the end table.  
  
"I'm incredibly tired, Mulder. I just," she struggled for the right word in frustration, "I can't even focus anymore. I feel like I've been going for four days straight, and every time I have one of those nightmares I wake up more tired than I was when I laid down."  
  
"Move over," Mulder suggested. She did and he took her place at the end of the couch and laid a pillow in his lap and patted it. "Come on, put your head down. Maybe you can catch a few minutes sleep."  
  
"Mulder, shouldn't you be sorting through ghost stories with Dr. Kotubetey?" Scully looked at the pillow and back at him skeptically.  
  
"She got tired of me and suggested I go annoy my partner for a while," he reached over and touched her shoulder, and she thought of resisting but his gentle insistence won her over. She gave in and laid her head on the pillow with a sigh. He rubbed her shoulder and brushed her hair back so he could see her face, which was turned away from him.  
  
"I'm so tired, Mulder, but I'm afraid to close my eyes." She spoke softly, but the desperation in her voice was clear.  
  
"Don't worry, Scully. I'll be your backup. I'll watch you, and if you're in any distress I'll wake you." He ran his hand up and down the length of her arm. "Just relax and try to sleep. Nothing's getting by me."  
  
Scully closed her eyes. She couldn't imagine anyone she could feel safer with than Mulder. Despite the times when he had shown questionable judgement in other matters, his loyalty had never wavered. She knew he would indeed watch over her all night if necessary. She had barely finished the thought before she drifted off into a sea of nothingness.  
  
When she awoke on Dr. Kotubetey's couch, alone, it was her first clue that something was amiss.  
  
"Mulder?" She said, quietly, as if speaking loudly might wake up the shadows again. There was no sound at all in the house, no partner rushing back to her side after slipping off to confer with the doctor. She felt her hopes fall, and she suddenly felt utterly alone in the strange, dark house.  
  
Reaching over to the end table she switched the lamp on, but was not surprised when it didn't light. If this was a lucid dream, she reasoned, she could manipulate her surroundings. She could make the light come on.  
  
"Come on, light. Come on," she muttered under her breath, flipping the light switch repeatedly. The lamp stayed dark.  
  
She looked around the room, re-evaluating her control of the situation. In the darkness she could barely make out the shapes of the masks she had seen on the walls on her way in. She looked into the room, straining to see, and realized the Zulu warrior was gone from his pedestal. She dropped to the floor, crouching low and using the couch for cover as she spun around looking for him.  
  
Immediately she thought of her opponent's armaments. He had been holding a six foot spear, and possibly had had another knife on his belt. She reached for her gun but found her holster was empty. She cringed; the nightmare creatures were getting smarter if they had figured out how to disarm her before she woke up. Thinking back to when they had arrived in the doctor's house, she decided to head for the relative safety of the front hallway. At least she could make her stand in a less open area than this dark living room  
  
As she passed a display of African shields set on the floor, a hand reached out and wrapped it's long, sinewy fingers tightly around her leg. She gasped as she fell headfirst to the floor. Kicking hard, using her hand-to-hand combat training, she was able to free herself, scrambling backwards away from her attacker. Before she could regain her footing she watched as all but one shield fell away, and the Zulu warrior stood up, holding the last shield tightly in one hand. His face was cast in shadow and the war paint stood out plainly in the inky darkness of the room as he pointed at her and spoke words that were completely alien to her, full of hard sounds and clicks. She watched him, wide-eyed, and then scrambled to her feet and ran for the front door.  
  
He shouted more words, angry this time, and taking a giant step towards her, caught her by the hair, jerking her back and pushing her to the ground. She yelped in surprise, and then anger. Turning over to pry herself loose from him, she rolled away and jumped to her feet again. She was only a few steps away from her goal now, and she scrambled to reach it.  
  
The Zulu was still shouting at her, and he banged the floor with his spear to get her attention. She saw him lift his spear and crouch low, preparing to throw it. It was the extra incentive she needed to jump and reach the decorative spear mounted high on the wall. She tore it down from its mounting and turned to face the warrior. He shook his head in frustration and stood back up and ran towards her. She lifted her spear to ward him off and he stopped short.  
  
More words, undecipherable to her, were shouted, and he waved his spear, shaking it at her as he spoke. She held her ground in the entry hall, keeping him at bay on the living room end of the hall, but just a spear's length away. Entirely too close for her taste. She considered her options and found them lacking.  
  
A rumbling noise reached her ears from behind her, but she didn't dare take her eyes off the warrior to turn and see what it was. He crouched down again, spear at the ready, his eyes flashing between watching her and watching the door behind her. Scully held her ground, even as the sound grew louder until it was a roar like a freight train outside the door.  
  
The door flew open with a terrible thump and wind swirled around them, lifting objects from the floor and walls and hurling them around the room. Scully gasped, ducked and backed up against the wall, trying to avoid being blown out of the room or hit with debris. She had thought she almost had the situation under control with the warrior, but suddenly she felt that familiar nightmarish fear creeping up on her. This phenomenon was nothing she could control, whatever it was. She looked towards the doorway and watched as many of the contents of the room flew out.  
  
Although the room was dark, outside was still light enough for her to make out silhouettes. A shadow crept up to the doorway, formless and flowing like a bubble in a lava lamp. At the door it melded and shaped itself into a beast with legs, a huge heavy head, and a low, stocky body. The blackness of the shadow beast hid all the details of it's form, but when the low, clicking growl began echoing down the hall, clearly audible even over the roaring wind, she knew it was the same one that had attacked her. She held her spear tight, wondering where she would need to use it first.  
   
The decision was made for her. The Zulu stood up, shouting words at the beast in the doorway. The beast stood still for a moment, but then threw back it's head letting out a terrible roar, shaking the very walls of the house, and lifted it's paw to step into the house.  
  
The Zulu warrior took two small hopping steps forward and heaved his spear like a javelin into the body of the shadow beast. It hit square in the creature's chest, making it's form ripple and shift. Angered, it lept into the house, stretching impossibly far with it's claws and catching the warrior by the arm. He spun around from the strike and Scully clearly saw four deep red cuts in his upper arm.  
  
Before she could protest, the Zulu grabbed her spear from her shocked hands and threw it hard into the animal. It shook and collapsed onto the doorstep, loosing it's shape completely and draining away. When the last of it's dark form had disappeared from the doorstep, the wind abruptly stopped. The Zulu slammed the door closed.  
  
Scully had pressed her back against the wall for stability during the storm, but now she slid down until she was on the floor,  her knees tucked up close to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs, shocked into submission. She stared straight ahead, and saw the feet of the Zulu warrior stop in front of her. She reluctantly looked up. He spoke to her again, his grating words sounded harsh and angry, but not threatening. He tapped the side of her head with two fingers, trying to make a point of some kind. She stared at him, her mind blank. He finally turned and walked away, towards his pedestal in the living room.  
  
Scully sat there for a moment, brushing the hair back from her eyes where it had been blown by the raging winds. She felt relief flowing over her like an unstoppable river, and laid her head down on her knees, feeling her body shake uncontrollably. She closed her eyes and didn't even notice as the room dissolved around her.  
  
Chapter 7  
\---------  
Saturday, September 14  
2:35 AM  
  
  
"Scully, wake up. Scully?" Mulder gently shook her shoulder, a worried look hanging over his face until he saw her eyes flicker open. For an instant she panicked, and tried to sit up fast, but he caught her by the shoulders to slow her down.  
  
"Careful, it's OK. You're in Dr. Kotubetey's house. Remember?" Scully looked at him without recognition for a moment longer, and then it all began sinking in. She sat up slowly and rubbed her hands over her face.  
  
"Jesus, Mulder, what happened? I thought you were watching out for me."  
  
"I was. You barely twitched until a minute ago when you started shaking, and I woke you up right away. Are you OK?" Scully nodded, rubbing her arms to fight against a chill that was probably more a product of her over-excitement than the room's temperature.  
  
"I found good news," Dr. Kotubetey spoke up and Scully noticed her for the first time, sitting in the recliner across the coffee table from them. She had a pile of papers in her lap, and she shuffled through them. "I found a manuscript explaining how to defeat a dream curse. According to this, it cannot be fought alone. You need three guardians."  
  
"Guardians?" Scully asked.  
  
"You need the support of the Guardian of the Body, the Guardian of the Mind, and the Guardian of the Soul. Only with these three can the evil be defeated." Dr. Kotubetey shuffled to another page. "It says the Guardian of the Body must be one to who you entrust your body while you go into battle with the dream beast. The Guardian of the Soul is your chosen God, to who you entrust your soul so you will be free to fight, and the Guardian of the Mind is a protector of dreams, given it's powers by a tribal elder or religeous leader. It will help you fight the beast." The old woman's leaned forward, speaking as though she was passing along a long held secret. "It's the old threesome of Trust, Faith, and a little bit of Magic."  
  
Scully nodded, thoughtful. "Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Kotubetey." She stood up from the couch and shook the other woman's hand. "Come on, Mulder, I think we've inconvenienced her enough for tonight."    
  
"What about your nightmares?" Mulder asked, clearly not ready to give up on such an interesting case.  
  
"This last one was different. You said yourself I wasn't distressed by it. I think the phenomenon is over." She wanted to stop talking but felt she needed to add a little more justification. "I think you were right about it just being a symptom of a sleep disorder."  
  
"I'm sorry, Dr. Kotubetey," Mulder said, standing up to shake her hand while giving Scully a suspicious glance as if he knew she was hiding something from him. "Thanks for all your work. I'll let you know if anything else develops..." Scully walked away while Mulder was still talking and looked at the Zulu statue in the dim light from the table lamps across the room. Even in the dark, against his coal-black skin, she could see the four deep scratches carved into the stone flesh of his upper arm.  
  
"Look at that," Dr Kotubetey was suddenly at her side, ready to escort them both to the door. "He's been in my house for ten years and I don't think I ever noticed those marks on his arm."  
  
Scully wrapped her hand around the cold stone of his arm and rubbed her thumb over the deep scratches.  
  
  
Epilogue  
\---------  
Saturday, September 14  
9:35 AM  
  
I have never felt so rested and yet so ill at ease in my life. I lay in my own bed, watching the morning sunlight filter in through the gauzy curtains my mother helped me pick out on a shopping trip one bright Saturday so long ago, right after I had gotten my first apartment. Outside, birds are singing, and I occasionally see one flit past the window, chasing bugs or doing whatever else it is birds do on a sunny late-autumn morning.  
  
I have slept for six hours straight, without any disturbance from demons or hostile evil forms. My mind seems to be my own again, and for that I am grateful. I would have slept longer if it wasn't my habit to be up and about in the mornings. Nine was the latest I could sleep before restlessly waking. It is just as well I did, since Mulder will be calling, probably before noon; calling to ensure I did not die in my sleep at the hands of an African dream curse after he dropped me off at my suburban DC apartment. Only Mulder could make that sound like a reasonable thing to be concerned about.  
  
The questions are still racing through my mind. I cannot be entirely sure of what happened while I was asleep. The idea of a beast attacking me seems unlikely, and yet my imagination seemed to have switched into overdrive to convince me it was so. The thought that I somehow caused the vicious scratches on my chest and back is no more appealing to me, even though it is the most obvious answer, and the one that drove me to seeking Mulder's unconventional help. If I had arrived at my Doctor's office and told him this story I'm sure I  would have quickly been relieved of my position as a field agent. The FBI frowns on self-mutilation disorders in its armed employees.  
  
There is the theory that the spirits of the departed can come back to visit the living, and that the living would be most susceptible to these visitations when in a sleep state, or when just awakening, when the brain is still in a trance-like state. I have experienced something like this once before, when I thought my father visited me after he passed away. What if it could be the angry spirit of a serial killer, stalking me in my sleep, trying to complete his mad quest to achieve immortality through the sacrifice of others? It is the most fantastical possibility, and yet in some ways the most palatable one, compared to blaming some unknown process in my own brain for the whole incident.  
  
I roll over and look at the phone, laying on the other pillow where I had left it last night after Mulder called from home to check on me. He will probably call again soon, and he will verbally poke and prod to find the answers that he seeks. He probably has already been searching the internet for stories that back up his theories about curses and dream monsters. I don't think I can confirm or deny any of his theories, I can only discourage him and lift my eyebrow just so when he proposes them and see if I can shoot him down with a look. He may or may not accept my rebuff, it seems to depend on the phases of the moon.  
  
The only thing I can guarantee about this experience, is that it has made me think, made me push the boundaries of my own beliefs. I find that after all I have seen I am more willing to believe that our souls do not belong to our bodies. When the body relinquishes them, they do not necessarily rise on gilded wings to heaven or fall like stones into the pits of hell. Perhaps some remain to touch us, deep in the darkness of sleep, when our minds are most susceptible. To think that my only protection from that was to curl up in the company of my most trusted friend, wrap myself in my faith in the Lord to protect me, and have the good luck to be given aid by the the spirit of a warrior watching over his house, well, that tale seems very unlikely.  
  
And as the phone rings, I still do not know what I will tell Mulder.  



End file.
